Too Damn Weak
by Combferre
Summary: He lay, cowering, on the floor, too weak to move. Too weak to stand up for himself. Too weak to fight. Too weak to end this. Too damn weak.


**Hi everybody! Firstly, thank you all so much for reading, as always, I appreciate it so much, and would be very grateful for some feedback. I did not originally write this for a fanfic, I wrote it because I thought my head would explode if I didn't write something. Which brings me to my second point; this is a very dark topic (I'm just not a happy writer) and I wrote it in the hopes of possibly bringing awareness to the cruel things that go on in our world today because people are too self absorbed. I don't want to give it all away here, but I'd like for this to possibly make in impact, strike a chord, and maybe make a difference. Well, thank you all, and please go out and make a difference. Please, do not walk away from this with a light heart.**

**Just so you know, I originally had this posted on my other account (SecretAgent86) so I am not plagiarizing.**

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A raging fire pulsed through his burning veins. As it flowed through his body, crippling pain overpowered the regions it conquered. He lay, cowering, on the floor, too weak to move. Too weak to stand up for himself. Too weak to fight. Too weak to end this. Too damn weak. Trembling on the ground, attempting to shrink away into nothingness, he failed to brace himself for the continued onslaught of agony. His ribs exploded in searing pain, and he felt them crack beneath the unrelenting boot. Next came his stomach; it convulsed as it too received another fierce blow. His screams were drowned by the tidal wave of metallic blood pouring into his mouth. Surely he would choke. But as the next attack came to his stomach, he curled inward upon himself compulsively, drawing his legs to his throbbing chest, head tucked away as best he could manage, trying in vain to shield himself. However, he had no such luck. Retching violently, a black mixture of blood and bile poured from his moth, liberating his airways, and staining the carpet once more.  
And still, it did not stop. The dreaded swishing filled his ears, just before the _crack_ befell his back. _Crack_! _Crack_! _Crack_! With each splintering stroke, a new wave of fire tore across his body, radiating outwards from the new slashes that joined all the others. The leather withheld no fury, and showed no mercy upon its helpless victim. He no longer screamed, for he knew the screams would bring no end, no help, no savior; they'd only add to his punishment. So he instead shielded his bloodied and bruised face with his equally marred and throbbing arms, praying to a god he was not so sure even existed any more.  
Tears cut their way through the scarlet blood coating his thin cheeks, streaking silently to the floor. He knew he was too old to cry. That it was a sign of weakness that would bring no good, and yet he couldn't fight back the tears. He cried for the love he'd never known. He cried because he knew no one cared. He cried because he was a coward. He cried because he no longer cared whether he lived or died, so long as the pain ended at last. He cried because all he'd ever wanted was to make his father proud. He cried because, at fourteen years old, he should be tougher than this, stronger than this, better than this. And above all, he cried because he knew that no matter what, no matter how cruel, no matter how badly it hurt, he would always-_always_-love his father.

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**Well that feels good getting that out of my mind. Just so you all know, 40 million children suffer from abuse or neglect. Nearly 17% of those children are physically abused by their parents; that's 6,800,000 kids. In the United states, five children die every day because of child abuse, right there, that's 1,825 deaths a year. 1,825 too many deaths. And these are only the reported cases. So please, be aware. As someone once said, "The first step towards change is awareness."Be aware, and go out and make a difference, go change the world. As always, lots of love,  
-Lia**


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